


Displays of Affection

by five_ht



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-25
Updated: 2011-04-25
Packaged: 2017-10-18 16:26:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/190875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/five_ht/pseuds/five_ht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames wants to have a threesome, but really shouldn't be permitted to interact with civilized persons, period. He is the most emotionally stunted. Jealousy, punching, barebacking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Displays of Affection

"What about him?" Eames says over the music, for the sixth time in twenty minutes.

Arthur's gaze follows Eames' nod, to one corner of the dance floor. He can't tell who Eames is referring to, but he sees half a dozen average Joes trying to look butch while they grind to Casada, and that's enough information. "Please," Arthur says, with his most practiced disdain.

Knocking their shoulders together, Eames leans back against the bar. "Should I be flattered to learn that your tastes are so discerning? He's perfectly good-looking. It's just sex, just once; you're over-thinking this."

"But you know I have a thing for older men, pops."

Eames, who knows better than to take that as an insult, leans in to Arthur's ear, "If you wanted to call me daddy, all you had to do was ask, sweetheart."

Arthur elbows him away, "You need therapy. Stay here, I'll go find one."

He down his whiskey in one swallow and leaves his glass on the bar as he walks toward the edge of the dance floor. There are choices, obviously, in the sense that there are eyes on him and not one of these guys would turn down the offer, but Arthur has specific criteria here. At least, he'd certainly prefer to find someone he could safely classify as _not Eames' type._ Granted, everyone seems to be Eames' type under the right balance of fortunate lighting and alcohol, but he's not going pick up some simpering twink who's going to bend over and beg for Eames' cock. Arthur's got the market cornered on that, thanks.

It helps that the whole appeal of this, for Eames, seems to come from the prospect of watching Arthur get fucked by a stranger. Arthur can indulge voyeurism; he has no objection to letting some guy fuck him for Eames' entertainment. It's not a night he'd plan himself, but dick is dick. So he just needs to find someone who can fuck him.

The guys in the middle of the crowd are always high as kites, and the ones on the edges are too awkward for one night stands, so Arthur pushes through until the bodies just start getting denser. There's room here to dance without grinding on randoms, so Arthur starts to get into it, moving with the beat of some godawful remixed Katy Perry song, keeping his eyes sharp and surveying the crowd.

There's a lot of bad hair, a lot of skinny jeans, a worrying amount of eyeliner, and very few prospects. Arthur is about to shove his way to less arid ground when he catches sight of a broad chest and a pair of arms with actual definition. The guy's face is generic, more or less, but Arthur doesn't plan on looking at that much anyway.

He makes pointed eye contact, quirking his lip in a smirk when the guy immediately and unsubtly angles himself away from the group he's dancing with, giving Arthur an appraising look. Arthur glances quickly back toward the bar, long enough to meet Eames' gaze and tilt his head, beckoning him over.

The alcohol has started to buzz through Arthur's veins, just enough to make him move a little bolder, a little more fluid. Eames is at his back in no time, hands on Arthur's hips and falling instantly into the beat with him. Arthur keeps his eyes on his stranger as Eames's breath comes hot in his ear.

"He can't possibly be much older than you."

The impulse to elbow him in the stomach is strong, but the guy is starting to look nervous, so Arthur just says, "Look at him."

"I am, and he's not a day over thirty. Stepdaddy, maybe, if you're into that," Eames says. Arthur rolls his eyes.

"I _mean_ , look friendly so he doesn't think he's about to get clocked by my jealous boyfriend."

"Mmm, well that's not exactly the plan, is it?" Arthur can't see Eames' face, but whatever he does, it makes the guy relax (and wink, but Arthur supposes he can forgive that). He feels one of Eames' hands span his stomach, tugging at his waistcoat. "This would go quicker if I could break through your chastity belt and show him a little skin."

"I don't need skin," Arthur says, licking his lips and smiling at the guy, tilting his chin up in invitation. To no one's surprise, he immediately moves closer, close enough to reach out and trail fingers down Arthur's chest teasingly.

"You're good," Eames says in his ear, flattening his palm and pressing firmly against the place the guy touched. Arthur twists his head to see Eames smirking at their new friend, eyebrow raised in suggestion.

"I'm hot," Arthur replies, reaching back to bring Eames' head down, breaking that stare and pulling him in for a kiss that's lewd and wet, all tongue. Eames' hands on him are firm, and they tighten a little more when Arthur feels the heat of a body at his front.

He breaks the kiss to see the guy suddenly inches away, wanting in on the action. Up close, he looks a little wiry – at least compared to what Arthur's used to – and built for aesthetics rather than strength. He's maybe an inch taller than Arthur, and his posture is too relaxed for him to be at all intimidating. Arthur tilts his head back onto Eames' shoulder, closing his eyes briefly as he runs his hand over a chest that's not quite as broad or hard as the one behind him, but it'll do.

A strong thigh works its way between Arthur's legs. Arthur lifts his head, grinding a little and leaning in with an encouraging sigh. "I'm Arthur," he says, just brushing his lips against the shell of the guy's ear.

"Ryan," he replies, his cheek against Arthur's, smooth in a way Arthur isn't used to anymore. "Who's your boyfriend, Arthur?"

"Eames," Eames says, before Arthur can open his mouth.

"You guys are so sexy," Ryan says, and Arthur is grateful that he's still pressed close enough for Ryan to miss his eyes rolling.

"We like to think so," Eames says, rather than repaying the compliment Ryan was obviously angling for, before snaking his hands around Arthur to grab Ryan's hips and pull him closer. Arthur's breath stutters at the pressure of Ryan's thigh between his.

There's a lot less regard paid to the beat of the music when you're dancing in a three-man team, pressed against each other in a way that really isn't conducive to movement outside of grinding. Eames is hard against Arthur's ass, and Ryan is hard against his hip, and Arthur is starting to feel a little dizzy from the heat of their shared breath. He tilts his head back for a deep inhale, and then Ryan's lips are on his throat, kissing and sucking in a way that feels a little demanding for a one night stand.

Arthur feels Eames' chest vibrate against his back, and hands land on his hips, pushing Ryan's off to grip and press Arthur's ass back against him. Ryan's lips are moving up, to his jaw, like he's angling for a real kiss. But Eames' hand is on his breastbone then, fingers fanning out, traveling up Arthur's neck, keeping his head tilted back so all Ryan can manage is an awkward kiss to his chin.

Eames' tongue curls around Arthur's ear, both his hands tightening, on Arthur's hip and his throat, his body going taut all of a sudden and the mood shifting from recklessly playful to something Arthur can't place. He feels dizzy with something else then, arousal that has nothing to do with the press of Ryan's thigh, and Eames rumbles a noise – though Arthur can't be sure if there were actual words in it – before he pulls away, and everything relaxes again.

"Our hotel's just down the block," he says to Ryan as his hands loosen their hold, like it never happened, "You up for it?"

Ryan holds Eames' gaze for a moment, like he noticed it too, but then he gives Arthur an appraising once-over, a look that Arthur might punch a guy for in another situation, and nods. "Lead the way, boss."

It's cool on the street, and Eames throws his arm around Arthur, ostensibly to rub his arm where it's covered by nothing but the sleeve of his thin cotton oxford. He walks them several paces ahead of Ryan, but their hotel was chosen specifically for its proximity to the pub district, so they're inside before too long. In the elevator, Eames keeps his arms around Arthur's waist, standing behind him, pressing his lips to Arthur's neck seemingly absently. Ryan leans against the wall and watches them, eyebrow raised, but making no move to join.

Eames is still attached to him like that when they make it into the room, sucking at Arthur's neck, having not cast a glance at Ryan since they left the club. Still, with the door closed, Arthur assumes it's all fair game. Ryan, apparently, assumes this too, because he steps in front of them with a smirk, winding his hand in Arthur's hair. He's close, and then they're kissing, and Arthur has enough time to register how soft it is, how lacking in tongue and teeth and stubble, but then it ends, abruptly.

It takes a moment for Arthur to know what's happening; Ryan stumbles back a step, looking dazed, and Arthur registers the hand on Ryan's chest, pushing him away. Twisting his head, Arthur looks around at Eames.

Eames has his eyes narrowed at Ryan, letting a huff of air through his nose like a bull, and Arthur _doesn't_ laugh, but it's only down to his impeccable poker face.

"Eames," he says gently, glancing at Ryan, who looks like he's starting to get annoyed at being invited for a threesome where he's not allowed to touch anybody. Another heartbeat passes before Eames blinks, and his expression clears into bewilderment before he catches it with a cool raise of his eyebrow.

"That's not part of the deal, mate," he says, and Arthur knows there was no rule about kissing, but he's not about to argue. Eames' hand slides up to Ryan's shoulder, squeezing until Ryan drops to his knees with a grunt and a defiant stare. "You want to fuck him, you're gonna have to earn it."

Arthur watches as Ryan undoes his belt, pulling his pants open without ceremony. They're lucky, really – knowing Eames, that could have dissolved into a fight with a guy a little more attached to his dominance, and Arthur doesn't intend to have to pay the cleaning bill to get blood out of the hotel's carpet. Still, it would have been nice if Eames had explained his desire to play alpha dog, in case Arthur went and picked up some 250-pound bruiser.

Ryan's got a hot mouth, pouty and soft, and when he wraps his lips around the head of Arthur's cock, Arthur bucks a little, gasping. He half expects Eames to direct it, wind his fingers in Ryan's hair and push him around, but those hands are back on Arthur as soon as Ryan gets started. Eames tips open the buttons on Arthur's waistcoat, pulling it off his shoulders and dropping it to the floor, making quick work of his oxford, too.

Arthur loves the few seconds of contact after he's been in thick layers all night and every touch has been muted. Eames' hands on his stomach and chest feel electric now, nails scraping at his nipples, making his breath catch. Eames' mouth is on his neck, rough stubble and smooth tongue, growls vibrating out of his chest when Arthur whines, twitching his hips and pushing into the slick heat of Ryan's mouth.

The blowjob is good – Ryan sucks him like a pro, cheeks hollowing, taking him deep without preamble and humming around him, and that's _good_. What makes it great, though, is Eames, breathing heavy against his neck, rough hands dragging all over Arthur's torso, his hard cock pressing against Arthur's ass through their pants. What Arthur wants, what he _really_ wants, is for Eames to fuck him, maybe with Ryan there, sucking him off and watching the show.

Arthur arches into Eames' touch, grinding back against him, suddenly wishing they could get this part of the plan over with. He opens his mouth to suggest moving along to the Ryan-fucking-him conclusion to act one, but what comes out is a moan, a shaky exhale that he can't bite off before it turns into " _Eames._ "

His head falls back, and then Eames is kissing him, and it's like at the club, when they were showing off for Ryan, except now Eames's tongue invades Arthur's mouth instead of teasing, firm hands exploring Arthur's skin like he wants to mark it. Arthur shudders as Ryan licks a wet line up the underside of his cock, but the kiss doesn't break, Eames won't let it, one hand coming up to hold Arthur's jaw tight.

Arthur is trapped like that, breathing his moans into Eames' mouth, until Ryan takes a sharp breath and sinks down further, taking Arthur into his throat. Arthur's cry rumbles up from his chest, and he goes rigid with the effort not to thrust forward. Eames finally pulls back, watching as Arthur groans, "Oh, fuck."

Then the slick heat is gone, and Arthur again finds himself momentarily wondering what the hell is going on. He blinks and looks down to see Ryan staring up at them, exasperated. Eames' hand is wound in Ryan's hair, twisting his head at an awkward angle.

"That'll do," Eames says, his voice rough. Arthur is catching his breath as Ryan sits back on his haunches, wiping his mouth.

"Okay," he says flatly, looking at Eames like he's starting to regret following him into a locked room, and Arthur can't blame him.

"Lube and condoms are in the drawer," Arthur tells him, gesturing at the nightstand on the other side of the bed, hoping to get a few feet of space around Eames for a moment. Ryan stands, shedding his shirt with some hesitation, and walks around the bed to fetch the supplies.

Arthur turns in Eames' arms, one eyebrow raised, and Eames kisses him, open-mouthed and deep and hard.

"Eames," he says, pulling away and placing his hands on Eames' chest, "What do you want?"

Eames huffs a breath through his nose, his mouth set in a firm line that Arthur wants to call stubbornness.

"He's going to fuck you," Eames says, firmly. Then he adds, as if Arthur is the one experiencing some sort of cognitive dissonance over this, "I'll be there with you."

Arthur holds his gaze, waiting for him to crack. But Eames is a big boy, and this was his idea, and if he wants to keep going, that's what they'll do. He steps back to finish undressing, shoes and socks, then pushing down his pants and underwear while Eames watches. He hears the bed creak behind him, but he doesn't look, he just steps back up to Eames, wrapping his arms around his neck and pressing his naked body against Eames' clothed one, the way he knows Eames likes.

"You'll fuck me after, right?" he murmurs against Eames' lips.

"Better than he ever could," Eames says roughly, not nearly low enough for Ryan not to hear it, because Eames has obviously lost all control of his higher faculties.

Arthur backs them up until his legs hit the bed, keeping eye contact with Eames until he climbs onto it, moving back to lie in the center. Eames kicks off his shoes and crawls up to kneel beside him. Arthur spreads his legs to let Ryan get between them, and Ryan is still wearing his jeans, which probably speaks more to his caution than to any lack of eagerness.

"Ready?" Ryan asks, and it takes a second for Arthur to realize that Ryan is now ignoring Eames and addressing Arthur only.

"Go ahead," Arthur says hesitantly, wondering if this was what Eames pictured when he said he wanted to get some stranger to fuck Arthur in front of him. He's struggling to see what Eames is getting out of it. Ryan pours lube onto his fingers, and circles Arthur's hole gently before he pushes one in. Arthur inhales, looking up at Eames, who is watching his face carefully. He reaches out and grasps Eames' wrist, trying to bring him back into it.

Arthur can't help his whimper when Ryan pushes in another finger, but he shakes his head anyway, "Harder, it's not enough."

Eames' eyes flick down, watching the movement of Ryan's hand as he fingers Arthur a little rougher. Eames is hard, Arthur can see his erection tenting his pants, but when Arthur lets go of his wrist and brushes his hand across the bulge, Eames barely twitches. Arthur squeezes his thigh instead, willing Eames to react, wondering if he could maybe get Eames' pants open and suck him off.

"Is that good?" Ryan is asking, as he adds a third finger.

Arthur opens his mouth to respond, and Ryan takes that moment to crook his fingers, bumping all three against Arthur's prostate, so all he can manage is a moan, his back arching. He clenches his eyes shut as the wave of pleasure shudders though him, but then there's a hand in his hair, gripping hard. Arthur opens his eyes to find Eames staring at him.

"Eyes up here," Eames tells him, looking for all the world like he wants to throw a punch.

Arthur 's flushed all over, his hips twitching from the strokes of Ryan's fingers inside him, but all he can concentrate on is the death grip Eames has in his hair, the way Eames' cheat is heaving, the way Eames is hard in his pants but isn't even moving to get Arthur to touch him. This is approaching ridiculous; no one is getting what they expected or wanted out of this experience, clearly, and if Eames is too much of an overgrown child to put a stop to it—

"Fuck this," Eames declares. He lets go of Arthur and moves toward Ryan, who jerks back, his fingers pulling out of Arthur roughly, just before Eames' hand hits the center of his chest and sends him toppling to his ass, already protesting.

"What the f—"

But Eames' fist collides with his face, and that makes talking difficult.

"Eames!" Arthur grabs at his arm, holding him back, but Ryan is scrambling off the bed, and Eames only seems to be glaring at him, anyway. Arthur knows it wasn't anywhere near the full force of one of Eames' punches – because Ryan's jaw hasn't dislocated – but still, probably a bit of a shock.

"What the _fuck_ is your problem, old man?" Ryan spits onto the carpet, touching his lip and glaring at Eames.

Arthur keeps his hand wrapped around Eames' elbow, though Eames is frozen. "You should probably just leave," he says, sparing a glance at Ryan and managing what might even be an apologetic expression.

Ryan stares for another second, glancing between Eames and Arthur like he's actually weighing his options here, but then he deflates, stalking over to pick up his shirt.

"Fucking psychos," he mutters, and Arthur suppresses the desire to agree with him as he wrenches the door open and vanishes.

"You want to tell me what that was about?" Arthur demands, but Eames is moving as soon soon as the door clicks shut, pressing Arthur back to the bed, wrenching his arms over his head and biting at his neck.

"Couldn't fucking watch it," Eames breathes, teeth scraping Arthur's jaw, grinding his hips down hard against Arthur's cock. "Watching him touch you, what the fuck, Arthur," one hand leaves Arthur's arm and wrenches between them, between Arthur's thighs, shoving two fingers up inside him.

"This was – your fucking idea," Arthur points out, probably unnecessarily, but Eames is already stroking at his prostate, and Arthur's thoughts are starting to scatter.

"I _know_ ," Eames growls, adding a third and stretching Arthur further.

Arthur gasps, his nerves on fire with going from zero to sixty in five seconds, Eames rutting on top of him and forcing him open. "Oh, fuck. You're _jealous,_ Eames," and Jesus Christ, he needs Eames to fuck him right now.

"I know – I need to—," Eames pants, his fingers slipping out as he sits back, fumbling with his belt.

"Fuck yes," Arthur nods, reaching down to help, yanking Eames' pants open. Eames empties half the bottle of lube out into his palm and slicks himself up frantically, and then he's moving forward again and Arthur is locking his legs around Eames' hips and Eames is shoving inside him.

There's no waiting to adjust; Eames is brutal from the off, burying his face in Arthur's neck, crushing him to the bed and fucking into him hard. Everything is magnified, Arthur's so hot from the whole night, from Eames grabbing at him and holding him and growling in his ear, because he couldn't stand to watch Arthur getting touched by someone else.

"You're fucking crazy," he forces out, feeling that it's very important that Eames is aware of this, even as he scrabbles at Eames' shoulders, clawing at his shirt.

"You're fucking mine," Eames says, slamming into him, and Arthur shudders all over, feeling himself tighten around Eames' cock. He winds his hand in Eames' hair, tugging his head up and crushing their mouths together so rough it almost hurts.

"Yeah," he breathes, rocking with the thrusts, tipping his hips up and taking each one, "Yeah."

Eames groans, kissing him, licking at Arthur's lips, at his teeth. Arthur is wound so tight he's sure it's not going to take him long, just a little more of this pace and Eames growling into his mouth, that's all he'll need to come.

"You're," Eames is panting, his forehead against Arthur's, their mouths barely separated, "You're—" but then the movement stops, with Eames deep inside, and he lets out a shuddering breath.

"Arthur," he says hoarsely, "I forgot the condom, I didn't—"

He starts to push himself up, starts to pull out, but Arthur locks his ankles, wraps his arms around Eames' shoulders.

"Don't," Arthur says, his mind made up without a second of indecision, "Keep going, I want you to."

"Arthur," Eames says again, sounding strangled now, leaning up on his hands, but not moving back.

"Do you want to?" Arthur whispers, rocking his hips once.

Eames comes back down, dropping to his elbows and kissing Arthur again. "More than anything."

"Then keep going," Arthur urges, clenching his muscles and arching his back, moving Eames inside him. Eames shudders, snapping his hips. Arthur trails kisses along his jaw, nipping at his earlobe. "Fuck me, please just fuck me."

Eames starts to move again, thrusting a few times before he seems to decide he's not getting enough leverage, and leans back, taking Arthur's legs in his hands and folding him in half so he can slam inside.

Arthur cries out at the new angle, squirming helpless on the bed in Eames' hold, too hot by far with all of Eames' fully clothed bulk on top of him. He knows it doesn't really feel _that_ different without the condom – he hadn't noticed, after all – but knowing that Eames is inside him with no barriers, that they're skin on skin, that's enough to send Arthur into a tailspin.

"Eames," he moans, grabbing at Eames' shirt, "I want you to come."

Eames drives inside him, making a move to reach awkwardly between them, going to Arthur's cock, but Arthur catches his arm.

"No, no, let me feel you first," he says, feeling like he might come if he just thinks about it too hard, "Fill me up, come on."

Eames groans, pulling Arthur's legs over his shoulders so he can lean down, panting into Arthur's open mouth, "You want me to come inside you," he breathes, and it's not really a question, but Arthur nods anyway.

"Yeah, fuck yes."

"You're gonna be so wet, darling, you'll be dripping with it," Eames goes on, and Arthur knows he's close when he starts babbling like this, pounding Arthur into the mattress.

" _Please,_ Eames, come on," Arthur rasps, getting desperate. He feels the tension in Eames' body ratchet up and up until he slams inside, finally, all his weight behind the thrust. Arthur feels it, fuck, he feels the second Eames starts to come, hot and wet and filthy, deep inside him. Eames gives another thrust and Arthur keens with it, only dimly aware of Eames moaning above him, too focused on Eames slicking him up inside.

Eames lets Arthur's legs drop from his shoulders, and the position means Arthur's cock presses against Eames' stomach. He arches his back, groaning, just to get some friction, and the movement makes Eames' cock shift inside him, and that's all it takes. He claws at Eames' shoulders, wrapping his legs around Eames' waist as he bucks up against that warm, firm body, coming against Eames' shirt and his own stomach.

Arthur always loses a little time after an orgasm like that, drifting in a haze, so he doesn't know how long they lie there, but he knows he's never felt so filthy and so utterly okay with that fact. Boneless as he is, he can't do much to stop it when Eames starts to shift, but he does grunt a little in weak protest.

It feels as uncomfortable as always to have Eames pull out and roll off him, but he doesn't go far. He stays half on top of Arthur, only shifting his weight to one elbow, and reaching between Arthur's legs. He teases a little with one finger before pushing two inside, and their groans come in unison.

"That's fucking beautiful, that is," Eames says softly, and Arthur has to agree, feeling the wet slide of Eames' fingers, coated in his come.

Arthur squirms, turning his head and brushing his nose against Eames' stubble, shutting his eyes and shivering a little at the overstimulation, but not nearly enough to want it to stop.

"I don't get jealous," Eames murmurs, "I didn't think it would get to me, watching you with him, I thought I'd like it. I kept trying to snap myself out of it. I've done that before, it never bothered me like that."

Arthur takes a breath, trying to string the words together with Eames sliding his fingers in and out, making a mess of Arthur's thighs and the sheets. "It would have bothered me too. With you."

Eames doesn't say anything for a while, but he brushes his nose against Arthur's, his fingers moving almost absently, and Arthur starts to think that he could go for getting fucked again, or another finger, maybe, at least.

"I can't believe I punched him," Eames says finally, without a hint of guilt. Possibly amusement. Arthur has strange taste in men.

"I can't believe that's all you did, slugger," he says, reaching up to rap his knuckles against Eames' jaw. He shudders as Eames pulls his fingers free, tracing Arthur's hole before plunging back inside, and he really is dripping now. "As a point of interest, if we don't try to repeat the threesome experiment, we never have to use condoms again."

Eames grins, twisting his fingers and making Arthur gasp. "I'd take that deal."


End file.
